Forget What You Came Here For
by Platonic
Summary: No matter what facts or hurt she brought to mind, Helga was always reminded that they loved her; not the way she wanted it, but she couldn't escape it; not even in death.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold and co. This is a fanfiction and is in no way the thoughts or commentaries of the show's creators or owners.

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><p>Screaming could be heard permeating through the walls from the house next door. It never accrued to her just how close the fire had gotten. The room was hot and the walls seemed to glow with an unnatural light. Smoke drifted through the ceiling; the rooms above already filled. The floor moaned with every movement; its wooden beams weakened.<p>

Like all children do, Helga had thought about fires before. She had imagined her home burning up, and often times wished there was a way to send her troubles up with it. She'd rehearsed her fire escape plan many times before this night. She had even shared countless conversations on such a topic with her best friend Phoebe. Helga made it clear she wouldn't go back for anything in her house; as long as she made it out, that was all that mattered.

But that was a lie.

The smoke was now choking her as she opened the door to her closet. Inside, her previous memorabilia was melting from the flames that were now burning through the wall. The fire was right on top of her now, but she couldn't leave the items she treasured most. It was all she had left, including years of hopelessness repressed in the pages of that book; years she wouldn't be able to live without.

Helga entered the flaming area and flung aside the smoldering piles of old shines and empty passions. Then, her hands stuck the small box; the box full of her dear things. She grabbed it and scrambled out of the cramped area; the clothes erupted into fuel for the flame. She screamed as a wave of heat rushed over her body. She got to her feet.

"Helga! Helga!" Miriam could be heard screaming from somewhere else in the house. "You've got to get out!"

Oh, she had been trying for years to do just that; get out of this house. The flames flowed out of the closet and ran up the wall to the ceiling. At any moment it would all come crashing down.

"Helga!" Bob was now yelling at the door. Helga couldn't believe he'd come back up here for her. He thrust his body into the door to open it. The rush of oxygen rich air only fueled the fire more. The room was now ablaze.

o.

"Hey Arnold!"

It was five in the morning. What on Earth could anyone want at five in the morning? Needless to say, Mr. Kokoshka could always find something to bother him with.

Arnold opened his eyes wearily and gazed out of the skyline. The starless morning seemed to taunt him as the annoying calls came once more from his bedroom door. The teen now wished he'd raised the staircase to his room before he had gone to bed.

Sigh. At least Oskar wasn't waking his grandparents, they needed their rest. Arnold would gladly take all the complaints of the boarders over his grandparents. With great effort, the teen threw off his covers and sat up in his bed; a nagging dreariness taunted his eyes to return to their closed positions.

"I'd have to get up in an hour away," This fact did not lessen the pain.

Another knock came from the door.

"Arnold, I've been standing here for thirty seconds. When are you coming to the door?"

"I'm getting there, Mr. Kokoshka." Arnold stood to his feet and stretched. Whatever Oskar was complaining about would probably be a pointless run around for the rest of the morning. Arnold had become accustomed to Oskar's whining as of late. Suzie had returned to school in hopes of pursuing a career, which left her husband "helplessly" loafing around the house demanding others to spoil him as his wife had done. Yet Arnold wasn't mad at the inactive border. Arnold loved his odd little family too much to hate any of them, or their corks.

"Arnold, I need you to hurry up. I'm hungry and I can't make my sandwich."

Arnold opened the door still in his pajamas, as was the man before him.

"I'm not going to make you a sandwich, if that's what you want," Arnold frowned as the adult hardened his expression. "You can do that for yourself, Mr. Kokoshka."

"I was trying to do it myself, but your friend messed it all up. She's the one who ruined my sandwich and now I need you to make it for me."

"Huh?" Arnold was still too tired to fully understand what it was the border was talking about. "Why don't you wait until morning? Grandma will make breakfast and you . . ."

"I'm hungry now, Arnold," Oskar persisted. "And I don't think grandma wants to clean the whole kitchen herself."

"What?"

The oddity of the statement drew Arnold out of his room. He still wasn't fully awake as he rounded the corner into the kitchen; the light was almost too bright to see anything. In his temporary blindness, Arnold had entered the kitchen without any caution. At the sound of a light crack, a sharp pain ran up Arnold's leg; he had stepped on something and he knew it was glass. Arnold let out a crisp cry, doing his best to stifle the noise so not to wake the other boarders.

"Why didn't you tell me there was glass on the floor?" Arnold spoke through clenched teeth, his eyes instantly adjusting to the light to reveal broken shard scattered around the room.

"You didn't ask me," Oskar shrugged. "I didn't make the mess. That girl made the mess. You should be mad at her."

"It doesn't matter right now," Arnold lifted his foot to examine it. There didn't appear to be any glass in the now bleeding wound. Still, there was enough blood to make Arnold feel it would be best to properly clear and dress his foot. "Oskar, could you get the broom and start cleaning this up?" Arnold knew it was a long shot, but he had to ask anyway.

"But I didn't do it. You don't believe me." The man spoke loudly in his defense.

"No Oskar, I didn't say you did it," Arnold tried to calm the man. "I just need to clean my foot and I don't want someone else to get hurt." The teen began hopping out.

"So you leave me to do it. This isn't fair." Oskar went to the closet and retrieved the broom. As much as he hated working, he had come to learn that it was best to do the little things asked of him, this way Arnold would be happy enough never to force him to do anything major.

Arnold made it to the downstairs bathroom and sat down on the toilet lid. He again looked at the cut in his foot. It was a clean, straight cut. Arnold took some toilet paper and cleared the blood away to get a better look. Reaching over, Arnold grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink and dabbed a cotton swab with the rubbing alcohol found inside. Arnold took a deep breath before cleaning the cut with the swab. This motion stung more than Arnold had anticipated and he had to bite his lower lip to keep from yelping. He bandaged the foot and limped back out to the kitchen. Oskar had managed to sweep around two kitchen chairs before sitting down at the table.

"I got some of it up for you," Oskar motioned toward the broom. "I left it out for you to finish up with. I'm kind of sleepy after all that work; I'm going to bed."

"Do you think you could grab a pair of shoes for me first?" Arnold asked, afraid to step out onto the floor again.

"You can get them, you know where they are." Oskar left without another word.

Arnold sighed as he surveyed the damage. He couldn't imagine what dish could have broken to cause such a mess. There was glass everywhere. It couldn't have been a cup or bowl, maybe the coffee pot? But even that was too small.

"Hey."

Arnold jumped at the new voice behind him. He turned quickly to see the newest member to the boardinghouse, Helga.

"I was coming back to clean it up; I just wanted to get my shoes." Helga extended her hand expecting him to hand over the broom. She was wide awake and was even dress for the day. This wasn't an odd thing for her. She made it a point to be up before the other boarders everyday and she often went out for coffee or a walk in the park until the morning routine of the Sunset Arms had come to a close.

"It's okay Helga, I've got it."

Helga let out a small snort before yanking the broom from the weary boy's hand. It took a moment for Arnold to understand what just happened as Helga went on to sweeping the kitchen. He watched her for a moment, listening to the bits of glass clang against each other.

"If I help you, this would go faster." Arnold offered.

Helga didn't answer, which meant Arnold was being given the option to leave or stay on his own. Arnold went back to the closet and grabbed the hand broom, dust pan and a pair of shoes; though not his, they fit well enough. He came back to the kitchen and set to work scooping up the swept piles of glass and discarding them into the trash. The two worked in silence for nearly twenty minutes sweeping the room. Arnold's knees had become sore from crawling around, but it beat standing on his foot the entire time to sweep. Now that the room was clean, Arnold felt bold enough to ask,

"What broke?" He looked to Helga as she went to put the broom away.

"I knocked a few cups out of the cupboard." Came the flat reply.

"Pretty big mess for just a few cups." Arnold came up behind her to place his items in the closet.

Helga shrugged in response. The closet door was shut as the two stood silently for a moment. Arnold knew better than to probe her for an answer; he'd find out soon enough when the item was needed by one of the boarders. He sighed, wishing there was a way to get back the sleep he had lost.

"Well," Helga made her way to the front door. "I'm going for a walk."

"Don't you think it's kinda dangerous to walk alone, at this time?" Arnold wore a concerned expression as she opened the door; the boarder's pets taking this opportunity to re-enter the house after their night spent outside.

"I don't really care." She left closing Arnold in with the small group of animals.

Arnold heaved another sigh. He hated the idea of her being out alone, but no amount of persuasion would change her mind. Instead, Arnold decided to get ready for school a little early, as well as get ready for the morning rush.

Arnold enjoyed the few minutes of peace he got before the other boarders woke up. He didn't have to wait in line for the bathroom, he made his own breakfast and he even had time enough to spend a few extra quiet moments studying for his history test.

But all serenity was quickly forgotten as the Sunset Arms roared to life with people scrambling around to get ready for work. Insults were flying in the bathroom line, fights braking out in the dining room, loud conversations being carried in the living room area . . . It made Arnold wonder why he never thought to wake up earlier before.

Arnold left the ranting of his odd family to join his grandmother in the kitchen. She was rummaging through the cupboards while precariously balancing on the back of a chair. Arnold's heart nearly skipped a beat as his grandma almost lost her footing.

"Grandma, why don't you let me help you!" Arnold took his grandmother's hand and helped her step down from the chair.

"Thank you sire," the elder woman smiled.

"What is it you're looking for grandma?" Arnold climbed the chair and looked inside the empty cabinet.

"See that's just it," his grandmother place a finger to her lips. "I can't quite remember what I'm looking for, but I can guarantee you won't find it in there. It's empty, your highness."

To Arnold's surprise, the cupboard was completely bare. There were no cups, bowls, plates, mugs, nothing. He searched the top shelve and even the cabinet next to this one; empty. There seemed to be only one glass left in the sink; dirty no doubt.

"That's more than a few cups." Arnold scolded.

"What's that shortman?" Arnold's grandfather then entered the room and took a seat at the kitchen table. He was a tired looking man due to his age, but he always wore a smile and took on the world with a surprisingly youthful approach; the quality Arnold loved best about both his grandparents.

"Nothing grandpa," Arnold lied as he stepped down from the chair. "But I think we're out of cups."

"Don't tell me Oscar's been stealin' from us again," Arnold's grandpa slammed a fist on the table. "He better not have takin' the good china. I'd better call the pawnshop."

"No grandpa, just a few cheap dishes got, misplaced is all." Arnold didn't want to work up his grandparents. Arnold did everything in his power to help his grandparents around the boardinghouse. Now that he was older, Arnold could take more responsibilities away from his aging care-givers. To be honest, it was his way of paying them back. Deep down he knew the boardinghouse's continued existence was to help pay for his being there. At their age, Arnold's grandparents shouldn't have had to be raising a child, putting up with teenage dramas or worrying about how to pay for next year's college tuition. But here they were, never complaining, but doing their best to give him all they could.

"In fact, I'll get us some new ones," Arnold smiled at his grandparents as he made his way for the door. "I'm gonna get going."

"Okay, you have fun at school," the elderly man watched his grandson head out, always optimistic and hopefully ready for his test.

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><p>(AN) Thank you for reading. This is my first HA story on this site, and my first one since like 1990-something. I love constructive criticism, so feel free to leave reviews. I've obviously aged the characters and have put them through many trying situations that I don't go into depth with here in chapter 1, so the characters may seem different than they were in the show. But please let me know if I'm way off base with them. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer:This is a fanfiction and in no way reflects the thoughts of Hey Arnold's creators or owners.

(A/N) I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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><p>She had shut herself up in that room for longer than she cared to know, with nothing more but the box she had wasted her family's lives to get. Hurtled up on the bed, Helga allowed the tears to drop from her eyes to the sheets. Voices and sounds could be heard coming from the room beside hers, but in her pained stupor she didn't hear it. All she could hear, all that would come in clearly, were the last raspy breaths of her mother.<p>

There came a knock at the room's door.

"Helga?" It was Arnold's grandfather. Out of compassion, or an ironic twist of fate, she was allowed to stay here. But the visit was hardly enjoyed. "Your sister's here." The old man knocked again. "She wants to see ya, so I'm going to let her in."

There was a moment of quiet, but eventually the door opened. Olga and Phil stood at the door. It was apparent that Olga had been weeping just moments before. Tears ran down the sides of her face, and her eyes were red.

Helga didn't even bother to hide how she looked, or felt.

"Oh baby sister," Olga suddenly burst into the room and threw herself next to Helga on the bed. "It is so unfortunate . . ." The woman broke out into uncontrollable sobs. Phil left the two sisters alone, closing the door as he went.

Helga never joined her sister in openly crying. She remained completely composed, save for the tears falling from her eyes. Helga held her box and waited for her sister to vent her soul. And after five minutes or so, Olga did.

"I'm going to miss them so much," Olga chocked out. "I love them; I don't understand how, how, how this happened."

It's called life.

"They weren't perfect but . . . and I never got to say good-bye. If only I were closer I would have been there. But I wasn't . . ." Olga sat up and did her best to dry her eyes. "How do you feel baby sister?"

Helga didn't answer; she looked at her box.

"I know you never felt close to them," Olga reached over and placed a hand on her sister's. "I hope you don't feel bad because of the ill feelings in our family."

Something about what she said, just didn't settle well with Helga. The younger sister shook off her older and glared up at the woman beside her. How could living-miles-away-with-her-own-family Olga understand.

"Ill feelings?" Helga's voice came out as a harsh whisper. Her strong will and dominating demeanor had vanished; she was too weak to express herself now. Still, how could her sister know? Helga wasn't even sure how she felt about her parents.

Sometime after turning twelve Helga decided she didn't need their love and approval to make her happy. She never needed a pat on the back or a 'we're so proud of you' to make her feel like she was part of the family, because she wasn't. Helga never was cut out to be a good 'Pataki.' Sure she may have inherited a trait here and there, but she never learned the tricks that would get her parents to love her they way they did Olga . . . That's because Olga was the perfect doll for them. They didn't love her either. When Helga saw that, she realized there was nothing to strive for. She could be the child chastised for being filled with fanciful dreams and wild ambitions, or the child applauded for performing like a trained dog to make the family name stand out. But she could never be loved.

It's sick what they did to us.

"As soon as I get a job here," Olga hugged her younger sister. "We'll move out and take care of you."

o.

Arnold decided to walk to school this morning despite his foot. He was leaving ten minutes early, so he should have enough time to limp if need be. Arnold greeted the early risers on his way and even took a moment to gaze out on Gerald Field. He laughed a bit to himself at the rush of memories evoked by that plot of earth. He continued on his way to school giving little thought to his childhood from that point on. He had to focus on today, and that history test. Arnold recited some of the facts he had studied last night and this morning.

"Ready for that test, Arnold?"

Arnold hadn't noticed he was at Phoebe's house until she spoke. The young woman sported a tired look and a slightly winkled shirt. Clearly she hadn't spent too much time on getting ready today as eve her hair was pulled up to hide her lack of care for it. She probably had stayed up all night studying; something he now wished he'd have considered.

"No, but I guess it's too late now." He laughed nervously; a tad ashamed he wasn't as prepared as Phoebe was; but Phoebe didn't return his laughter.

"To be honest," She sighed. "I don't feel ready either." Phoebe stepped down from her front porch and matched Arnold's pace.

"What's wrong?"

Those words had become such a staple of Arnold that Phoebe couldn't help but chuckle.

"Nothing really," Phoebe shifted the books she carried in her arms. "I was, just distracted this week; couldn't study."

For Phoebe not to study it must have been one heck of a 'nothing.'

The morning sky was bright and there were few clouds to littering the ground with shadows. It was shaping up to be a beautiful day. The city became more active the farther the two high schoolers got, as did their anxiety about the test. They quizzed each other lightly on history, poking fun at the other's mistakes. Arnold was pleased with himself that he knew more than Phoebe, and yet unsettled by it. He didn't ask her to explain her distractions. She was a good enough friend now that she would tell him eventually, if the problem were serious enough. He smiled warmly at her once they reached the school; a sign for each to head to their own home rooms.

Arnold sat in his morning English class; a horrid subject to have to study this early in the morning. He was a minute early, and this meant he'd have a little time to kill. He didn't really know anyone in this class . . . well, that's not entirely true. There was a girl who usually sat in the third row that he knew from his elementary school, but he didn't really 'know' her; not like he knew Phoebe. Phoebe and Arnold had ended up at the same middle school and often paired up for projects out of convenience. He had gotten to know Phoebe out of pure convenience, which was a shame now that he knew she was such a fantastic person. But isn't that how it always works? People are never brought together because they wanted to be; adventures such as relationships seem to take pleasure in the mundane. The opportunity to know Phoebe had never really presented itself until the isolation of a new school's science class.

The bell rang and the class began trickling in, but Arnold's thoughts didn't cease. With so many of his elementary friends at his middle school, why hadn't more of them stuck with him throughout the years? Many he still knew by name, yet fewer would still wave if he happened to cross paths with them now. Had he done the same to them? As old friends drifted to new "friends," Arnold was forced to do the same. Or maybe, this was just what all people did; they changed and thus changed the crowds around them . . . or changed to fit the crowds around them.

The late bell rang, jolting Arnold from his thoughts. For now he would have to content himself by sitting through another boring English lesson.

o.

"I know this place ain't much of a home to ya, but you're welcome to stay with us." Phil had asked her to come speak with him and Gertrude in the living room.

Helga complied. She was still numb; she couldn't feel her own heart beating at this point; _if_ it were beating at this point. She stared blankly into the older man's eyes, as if seeing through him to the rooms just beyond the wall. The tears had stopped now.

"You're sister," Phil paused, the words he longed for eluding him; his humor useless here. "She's overwhelmed right now. She couldn't find a job here and she said you won't be to happy moving in with her family, at least while they're still in that smaller apartment. I'm sure when things settle down she'll come . . ."

"She left me." Helga didn't sound bitter. She spoke as if she knew this were coming.

Phil looked to his wife; she at a loss for support.

"It's going to be okay, Helga," Phil said . . . Was that all he could do; speak empty words of comfort? There was very little left to do now. If he continued it would probably only hurt her further; for now it was best to let her think over her problems alone. "We'll, leave you to think it over. Come on Pookie."

The elderly couple left the room.

Helga continued her vacate stare. Olga and she had never been that close, but it still hurt to think that her own sister would leave her. Now that she was free from being perfect, perhaps disloyalty had become a curiosity to the older Pataki. This didn't surprise Helga; Olga was her parent's child, so she was just as disfigured as the rest of them. Broken and hideous. Of course her sister would leave her.

Helga continued to stare, continued to stare; her life broken into pieces. Scattered around like useless shards whose only function now was to slice the tender steps of any who got too close. Her life had become like the falling glass. One falling, just one falling to the floor; it shattered into piece. Several beautiful shining piece without a purpose; they could never be placed back together. But it was only one. . . But then another fell to the ground. It was not a beautiful mess. Another hit the ground, a bowl hit the ground, a plate, another glass. . . all the beauty burst against the tile and flew off to hidden spaces of the room.

As the last cup was grasped from the cupboard, Helga stopped herself. What was she doing?

The boardinghouse's kitchen floor was now a penetrating portrait of glistening tears and broken glass. The remaining bits of her sanity gripped tightly in her left hand; her fingers sweating around the smooth surface. She could faintly make out her trembling image on the glass, and she knew these memories were false. This wasn't what they were, and yet she couldn't rid herself of the feelings.

Shakily, the glass was set down in the sink and the young woman stepped away from the cupboard abandoning her original intent to get a drink. She needed to clean this mess before somebody saw it. Helga turned to leave the kitchen, but found that her heinous act had already been discovered.

"Why'd you break all the dishes?" Oskar stared at the newest boarder of the house with a slightly frightened look. Helga knew his fear was derived from her less than ladylike behavior. She never really interacted with the other boarders and only spoke with them if it were absolutely necessary. This wasn't one of those times.

Helga simply walked past the man. She'd go get her shoes and be back to clean the floor before anyone else woke.

"Where are you going?" Oskar waved to her. "You didn't clean up the mess. I won't clean up the mess."

Helga didn't need him to tell her that. She went to her assigned room and got ready for the day. She knew the boarders wouldn't be up for at least another hour, so there was no true rush, still, she felt she should get back downstairs before Oskar got too uptight and told his wife. Helga dressed normally and headed out. Oskar was coming up the stairs at this time.

He gave her a glare to which she responded the same.

"Because of you I have to go to sleep hungry. Are you happy now?"

Very, but Helga wouldn't admit that. She didn't want to speak with these people. Ignoring him promptly, Helga began her decent down the stairs.

"You don't have to worry about it," the man sneered. "I had Arnold clean it up." The man went back into his room and shut the door.

Helga watched the closed door for a moment more before heading back to the kitchen. Sure enough, Arnold was there beginning to clean up the glass. He was still dressed for bed, and judging by his sluggish movements he was still half asleep too.

"Hey." Helga didn't want to have Arnold, once again, trying to fix her mistakes.

Arnold jumped at the new voice behind him to which Helga had to subdue a smirk. His shocked expression was a cute one; his tired eyes, messy hair and one size too large pajamas were laughable even to someone who held him with such high regard.

"I was coming back to clean it up; I just wanted to get my shoes." Helga extended her hand expecting him to hand over the broom.

"It's okay Helga, I've got it." His reluctance annoyed her. Helga let out a small snort before yanking the broom from the weary boy's hand. Helga started sweeping the mess, hoping that Arnold would just leave; let her clean up the shattered memories alone.

"If I help you, this would go faster." Help? 'Meddle' was more like it. Helga didn't answer. If she told him to leave, he'd argue to stay. She didn't feel like arguing, especially with the only person she could utter more than one-word answers to. If she invited him to help, it would be a sign she was "opening up" to him. Helga wouldn't give Arnold that pleasure. She'd let him stay on his own accord and keep the conversation, if any, short.

Arnold was decent enough not to speak while they cleaned the space. He didn't even make eye contact while they worked. But Helga knew she couldn't have her way for long. The moment the room was cleared Arnold began asking his questions.

"What broke?" He looked to Helga as she went to put the broom away.

"I knocked a few cups out of the cupboard." Came the flat reply.

"Pretty big mess for just a few cups." Arnold came up behind her to place his items in the closet.

Helga shrugged in response trusting Arnold would catch the hint. The closet door was shut and Helga maintained the silence between them for just a moment more.

"Well," Helga made her way to the front door. "I'm going for a walk." She knew if she lingered even a moment more, he find someway of divulging the truth from her. So as always, she'd run from him.

"Don't you think it's kinda dangerous to walk alone, at this time?" Like an overprotecting parent Arnold wore the concerned expression he did for all the boarders of the house, and for this Helga pitied him. But his burden was his grandparents, not her, and certainly not the other crazies in this establishment. She opened the door and stepped aside as the boarder's pets ran back into the house.

"I don't really care." Helga smiled sadly as she left the house, knowing he'd worry.

And so Helga walked. These morning strolls had become all too routine for her. She'd pass the same people heading to work every day, and their presence would become just as mundane as the scenery. She wouldn't notice the weather unless it was raining, and she certainly never noticed the sound her sneakers made as they lifted from the pavement. Maybe at one time she noticed this stuff, but not anymore.

However, Helga did notice the vacant lot as she sauntered past. Almost as if ghosts had taken the field, Helga could imagine her younger self stepping out on the dusty ground. The cares of yesteryears could be completely contained in simple fragmented memories and painful sighs. Helga imagined her friends and young classmates were there too. Not every name could be remembered, but every face was splashed with the liveliness that only a baseball game could bring; that childhood innocence could bring.

"I wonder what happened to everyone," her eyes turned back to the sidewalk as the ghosts faded.

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><p>(AN) Thanks for reading, feel free to review.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer:This is a fanfiction and in no way reflects the thoughts of Hey Arnold's creators or owners.

(A/N) Sorry for such a long wait for this next chapter. I've be super busy with moving. But, ironically, I've moved into a boardinghouse type deal. I find it funny I'd end up here while working on a Hey Arnold story.

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><p>"I failed it!" Phoebe slammed her locker shut causing Arnold to jump. "I didn't know anything on that test."<p>

"I'm sure you didn't fail it," Arnold had offered to walk Phoebe home after their last class, which happened to be history. Arnold couldn't remember a time when Phoebe was so razzed by a test. Sure she always reached for high marks, but she had come to accept that perfection wasn't an attainable goal on everything. So why was she so upset now?

"Yes Arnold I did, I failed it," it almost appeared as if tears were forming, but she quickly turned from his gaze. "I didn't try hard enough. I wasted so much time . . . I should have . . ."

"Phoebe?" Arnold placed a hand on the girl's shoulder and waited for her to slowly face him. "What's wrong?"

Phoebe rolled her reddened eyes as a hurt laugh escaped her lips. Again Arnold's cliché line was being wasted on her.

"I know you wouldn't just fail a test over nothing, Phoebe," Arnold gained her full attention. She didn't answer him at first. The hall was emptying of students as the afternoon seemed to pass by around them. Phoebe began to examine the laces of her shoes, clearly thinking over whether or not to tell him. It was then Arnold realized that his towering over Phoebe probably didn't help her feel any more comfortable. Arnold released his hold on his friend and stepped back. He didn't lighten up his concerned expression though as Phoebe looked up again. "Please Phoebe."

"I can't explain it, Arnold. Not to you"

"Try."

She hesitated.

". . . Do, you remember Gerald?"

How could he forget? He and Gerald use to be best friends when they were younger; a friendship now maintained by e-mails and phone calls. Arnold could hardly think of a childhood memory that didn't involve his tall haired friend. But looking at Phoebe now, Arnold knew she wasn't trying to conjure happy memories. It was then Arnold remembered that Gerald had admitted to having a slight crush on Phoebe back in elementary school. Could it be that Phoebe shared his feelings? If that were true, what bearings did that play out now in high school?

"Of course I remember him."

"Do you know what happened to him after eighth grade?" Phoebe broke her eye contact with Arnold again, but he didn't seem to notice as his mind tried to jump back to four years ago.

"Well, after eighth grade Gerald moved across town. I still call him and we use to hang out on the weekends, but I guess I don't see him as often right now. Why?"

"I, saw him the other day and . . ." Phoebe sighed and it was quite clear to Arnold the affectionate feelings were mutual. "He's changed, a lot."

"Well, we all change. Why's it so bad?"

". . . I don't know. I use to really like him," weak laugh. "But, everything I thought I liked, wasn't there."

Arnold frowned at this news. He wasn't completely sure what she meant, but he didn't like the direction this discussion going.

"We hung out for a little while. He remember who I was, but treated me . . . I mean, he did offer to treat me to an early dinner, but he was so, well . . .ugh, he was hitting on me like I could be won over by cheap flirtations and uncultured innuendos. Behind that 'cool' charm I felt there used to be a general respect for me beyond that of being his infatuation. The charisma, the appeal, the level-head enthusiasm splashed with a gentleman like approach to correcting conflict and preserving childhood intellectualism; all just, gone."

"Oh . . ?"

"It's like everything I remembered him for, everything I thought would stick with him . . . I'm just . . . he abandoned the fundamentals of his character. What are we without our integrity Arnold?"

Again Arnold wasn't completely sure what she had said, but the context came through loud and clear. Gerald had changed and, in Phoebe's eyes, not for the better.

The girl became angry again as she began rearranging the books in her arms with a violent intensity. Arnold wasn't sure how to address the topic. It was a shocker to him to hear someone speak of his old best friend like that, assuming she was speaking very poorly of him. Yet at the same time, he couldn't help but wonder if it were true. He hadn't spoken with Gerald face to face for about a year now. Maybe it was time to remedy that, but in the meantime,

"Sometimes our memories of something or someone are better than they really were. Maybe you're being too harsh with Gerald. I don't think he would . . ."

"Of course Arnold, you're completely right!" Phoebe turning to walk. "He's just perfect and I'm crazy! How could I have spoken badly about someone who eyed me like a piece of meat. Surely I should have just stood there and taken his insults and golden nuggets of wisdom! Thank you!"

Her outburst was unexpected and Arnold almost couldn't reply.

"Phoebe wait!" Arnold hastened to catch up with her, but soon found it unnecessary. Though she was shorter than him and had a smaller frame, when Phoebe turned to face Arnold she had a larger than life strength backing her words.

"I don't expect you to understand because your memory wants to paint your best friend as an infallible champion. You haven't the slightest how people change; you can't admit that your judge of character was worse than mine!"

Pause.

"Did you like him?" The words came out before Arnold really thought them through. He knew her outburst wasn't happening at random, and if she was willing to fail a test over this bit of news, well, Arnold couldn't see any other explanation . . . that or he'd have to accept that, she'd told the truth.

Phoebe sighed and lowered her head.

"Yes, I, kind of liked him."

"Maybe both our memories are faulty."

" . . . I think I just fooled myself into loving the idea of loving him; and now, that person doesn't exist anymore. I'm sorry to trouble you, and for yelling at you; I'm so stupid for crushing on someone this long."

"That's not true," the two reached the end of the hall and Arnold held the door for Phoebe. "You loved a really good person, and I don't think you can hate yourself for hoping for the best in people. And who knows, maybe you just misunderstood what Gerald was saying." Arnold smiled.

"Optimistic much?" Phoebe weakly smiled.

"Maybe just a little."

o.

It wasn't that she didn't appreciate their hospitality; this haphazard group of people's kindness reach farther than they could ever know, and for that she was grateful. That's what this was; her way of thanking these people.

Helga placed the month's rent on the kitchen table. For as long as she'd been there, Phil had complained about the bills every month, and she took note of it. Seeing him there, a pile of bills stacked around him . . . she couldn't recall a time when she saw her parents writing checks for the mortgage or utilities, but she knew it was done, and that she benefited from it.

"Helga, what's this?" The elderly man looked up to see her leaving the kitchen. "Ya didn't answer my question." Phil eyed the cash on the table; it was enough to balance out the budget. For the first time in twelve years he would be able to pay the bills and still have a little left over. There wouldn't be any surprises he couldn't pay for this week; heck, they could actually afford a mishap! But, this was being made possible by someone without a job? Sigh. "My better judgment's telling me to keep my mouth shut."

Phil got up from the table, the rent money in hand, and followed after Helga.

"Hold up!" He demanded. "Don't make these old bones work any harder than they have to."

Helga halted with an aggravated sigh. She crossed her arms and glared at the older man. She already knew the topic of the discussion and thus allowed her stature to show her immediate boredom.

"I already told ya you're free to live here. I ain't chargin' ya."

Helga rolled her eyes and turned to go.

"Look at you, got the eye roll and distant attitude all down packed," Phil watched the girl look back at him with a questionable look. She couldn't tell from his tone whether or not he was insulting her, but this wasn't the response she wanted for her gratitude. Regardless, it got her to stop walking. "Seems to me you're acting like a pretty normal teenager again. Feeling any better?"

Better. No she wasn't better, but that was no concern of his . . . but he was making it so. Helga almost couldn't stand the concern this man gave even in his misplaced joking. Since the moment her world fell apart these strangers had open and waiting arms; why couldn't her parents?

"I'm guessing you're feeling well," Phil continued with a smile. "Is that why you're paying, because I have to put up with two teenagers in the house?" Even his mocking laughter was hinted with the sense that he cared. He was taking the time to notice her attitude changes, taking the time to remind her that he cared enough to let her stay free of charge, taking the time to even insult her with mildly witty phrases . . . it was too much.

The world was cruel even in its blessings. The money, this family, why couldn't things have worked out before? Why couldn't her parents have given a rip when they were alive! She didn't want her share of the insurance money, she wanted her parents to have made provisions for her when they were alive. Not more material waste, not another sign from the grave that they might have remembered her.

"I'm not a charity case." Helga held back her tears and frustrations to deliver a calm reply, one that left Phil slightly troubled. Limply heading back to her room, Helga half wanted to kick herself for such a rude delivery to her new 'landlord.' But the pain didn't last and Helga went back to her bed to spend the rest of her birthday. Becoming numb had been her coping mechanism in the past and it was becoming so much easier to gloss over the painful memories thanks to it. What should have hurt for hours had left with a simple dulling of the heart. She could forget the ungrateful blunder she had just made downstairs.

Helga looked to a letter placed on her night stand. The letter was from Olga explaining the insurance money that was now legal for Helga to collect. The young adult took up the letter and placed it in the small box located under her bed.

o.

The boardinghouse was alive with the sound of bad tempered residence. Arnold opened the door to a wave of hot air and even hotter complaints. It seemed the entire house was downstairs yelling at his grandfather; unmistakable about the heat.

"One at a time! One at a time ya bunch of animals!" Phil was doing his best to hush the overbearing crowd. He too looked overcome by the heat, but also a bit tired from having to talk over the noise.

A rush of agitation arose in Arnold as he watched the boarders bombard his grandfather with lashing tongues. He tossed his book-bag to the ground and rushed to his grandfather's side.

"Silence!" Arnold put up his hands so even the boarders in the back could see who had thwarted their speech. All fell roughly quiet as they fixed their disconcerted gazes on the teen. "Thank you. I'm guessing the air has gone out. You don't need to tell us about it, we know it's out. Grandpa and I will start working on it as soon as we can."

A low mummer could be heard as the boarders vacated the area. Arnold sighed.

"I guess we should go take a look at the air conditioning unit," this wasn't how Arnold wanted to spend his afternoon. Just looking at the air conditioner was going to take an hour, not that they really knew how to fix it; and then trying to convince everyone to pay their rent on time so they could later pay a mechanic was going to take all night. Not to mention Arnold was hoping to have enough left in the budget to buy new dishes. "You want me to get your tool box."

"Nah," Phil smiled despite the current events. "I'm going to call the mechanic and get the air fixed now."

"But grandpa," Arnold was shocked as the elder man headed for the kitchen phone. "How are you going to pay for it? Did everyone pay rent?"

"Nope."

"Do you need me to collect the rent then?" Arnold was confused by the sudden financial confidence his grandfather had.

"No, after twelve year of people not payin' their rent, ya' learn how to budget like a pro. Save a little here, save a whole lot over there; tell Ernie to live with that crack in his ceiling, and bingo, you'll have enough," Phil took up the receiver and dialed. "Plus Helga's been payin' rent for the past two months, so it makes up the little extra I need for mishaps like these. Sure beats divin' into your college fund."

Arnold gave his grandfather an unamused looked before asking,

"I thought you were letting her stay here for free."

"Shh Arnold," Phil waved the young man off. "I'm makin' a phone call."

Arnold left the kitchen. He found it strange that Helga would be paying her rent; she didn't have a job that he knew of, and for the five months that she'd been staying there his grandparents had never required her to pay. A part of him wanted to go up and ask her where she was getting the money, but the better part of him knew that would end with a door slammed in his face. Maybe she had gotten a job in the morning during her supposed walks, but that seemed unlikely as all high schools started the next hour; assuming she was still in school . . . he really didn't know. To be honest, now that he and Helga lived under the same roof, he knew less about her than when she lived in a different neighborhood.

"No wonder I'm a bad judge of character."

Realizing how little he knew about Helga got him thinking about Gerald. People he had constant contact with, he hardly knew. Through all the e-mails and phone calls; the countless dinners and hallway passings; Arnold had somehow managed to distance himself. The young man sighed, finding himself suddenly struck with a heaviness his optimism couldn't lift. The troubling realization conjured a deeper fear, one Arnold wasn't readily willing to admit to.

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><p>(AN) Thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Arnold and co. This is a fanfiction.

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><p>Tomorrow morning, that's when the mechanic said he'd come; so the boardinghouse continued in its miserable state until the cool of evening tampered the boarder's tempers. It was more than Arnold could bear watching his grandparents put up with the misguided anger of the patched together freeloaders. But as the wrath of the boarders calmed, Arnold's continued to fester. He had to escape the madness for just a moment–get above the insanity that made up his everyday life.<p>

The roof was one of the only places Arnold could flee to. Though still plagued with noise pollution from the surrounding streets, the roof was as far away as any boarder could hope to run without completely abandoning responsibility.

As if he had been held underwater, Arnold gasped a breath as he opened the window of the skylight. The air was still marginally warm, but the hatred of the house couldn't be felt here. It was the musky breath of fresh air Arnold had been needing all day. So many things to think about; so many things to run away from. . .

Arnold shut the window of his skylight and sat against it. He sent his gaze upward and watched as a few lone clouds drifted by. Aimless was their flight pattern and it brought a slight comfort to the teen. Though the condition of his mind was anything but a clam cloud in the sky, it was assuring to see that not all was wrong in the world.

Arnold released a heavy sigh as his angered thoughts came to rest on Gerald. Had his friend really changed for the worse as Phoebe said, or was she just blinded by nostalgia? Arnold couldn't imagine Gerald becoming someone so shallow. The conversations they'd held over the phone didn't lead Arnold to think any differently about his old friend. Sure the topics they discussed were different and their vocabulary might have changed, but Gerald was the same good friend he'd always been.

A small plane passed overhead and pulled Arnold out of his thoughts. He watched as the aircraft cut through a cloud before veering off toward downtown. The sight of the plane bothered him slightly like a bad dream that took forever to wake up from. Arnold rose up and slowly strolled to the front of the boardinghouse roof. He glanced down at the street below and watched the neighbors and shop owners conduct their normal evening rituals. Soon it would be night and the street would be relatively clear. This present mundanity was a welcomed one.

Then Arnold noticed a group of kids heading up the street. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Maybe those kids were heading home from Gerald Field. They had probably played baseball all afternoon just like he had when he was younger. Arnold didn't really want the memories to come, but they did.

"I wonder if they have a Gerald." Did those kids have a keeper of the urban legends passed down from kid generation to kid generation? It was laughable to imagine so. A jokester and a dependable person; stubborn but willing to stick by a friend no matter what; true blue with honest intentions and businesslike street smarts . . . could that be found among that group of kids. Were there others in that group? Were people that easily replicated throughout generations?

Arnold couldn't believe he was even thinking this. Why did it matter what Phoebe said; he knew Gerald better than anyone. Phoebe's assumptions were based on a one time meeting and were tainted by her old affections. People didn't change like that, they couldn't. Arnold needed to believe they didn't . . . because if time really changed people, if life really just had a way of shaping people that much . . .

"None of this is making any sense," Why did this bother him? Maybe he was still angry at the boarders or about Gerald changing, or how Helga changed after her parents . . . parents . . .

"It's hard when you have conflicting messages, isn't it?" Arnold was startled by Helga's voice. "One second you believe something with all your heart; the next, you're not even sure where your heart is."

She was seated against the door to the stairs; the reason Arnold hadn't seen her before. Considering he never heard the door open or close, he had to assume she had been there the entire time. She sat Indian style with a small box in her lap. Between her forefinger and thumb she held up a pink ribbon which was caught up by the light breeze and limply danced about in the air. Arnold wasn't sure if her words were suppose to be ones of comfort, sympathy, mockery or . . . in a category he couldn't quite name. She didn't look at him, she kept her focus on the ribbon in her hand. Arnold waited, half expecting her to continue, but she never did.

Her presence there had completely derailed his thoughts as he began to ponder a new question.

"Do you mind if I stay up here with you?" Next to his grandparents, Arnold practically own the house; he felt odd having to ask if he could stand on his own roof, but at the same time it felt disrespectful not to.

She didn't answer, or even seem to hear the question. Her face held its distance concentration on the object tossing lightly at hand. Arnold guessed she wouldn't mind. If his presence became a real problem she would leave on her own. Arnold shifted his weight, uncomfortable with the silence between them, before deciding to take a seat on the left side of the roof door. Leaning forward he glanced around the corner to see that Helga was still watching her ribbon; she didn't seem to mind his being there.

They both sat, the evening giving way to a darkness only hampered by the soft glow of the street lamps. The wind picked up a bit and soon Arnold found himself watching the tale end of the ribbon. He couldn't see Helga as he sat against the old wooden structure, but the hair accessory was just long enough to be visible, and a bright enough color to be seen clearly in the dark. It's movement was so rhythmic, a consistent wave; Arnold felt almost hypnotized by the dancing object. It had such a calming effect. Arnold began to wonder if Helga, might possibly,

Suddenly the ribbon was moving from its former place, blowing past Arnold face toward the edge of the roof. Whether Helga had let it go or just lost her hold on it wasn't sure, but Arnold suddenly found himself reaching out to grab the lose ribbon. Its skilled movements dodged his grasp time and time again. Arnold got to his feet, ignoring the slight dizziness as he stood. He chased the ribbon close to the edge, reach out and,

"Just let it go." The words escaped her mouth just as Arnold's hand took hold of the waving cloth. "I said let it go." Helga remained against the door, the lamp above her choosing just then to flicker on.

Arnold looked at the ribbon laying lifeless in his hand, then back to Helga. The lamp cast a harsh shadow over Helga's face, but Arnold could imagine the scowled of her younger years staring back at him. Arnold did not release the ribbon.

"I've already caught it if you'd like it back."

"I said. Let. It. Go." Helga's words became soft, but their tone unmistakable; it was clear she had released the ribbon on purpose.

Looking at it now, Arnold could recognize that this ribbon could have been the one Helga wore throughout elementary school. It was hard thinking of a time she wasn't wearing it; possibly a favorite accessory or a gift. Arnold wondered if it was from her parents like the old hat he keep safely on his bookshelf, too small and too precious to wear now. Why would she throw it away?

"Helga, I know you don't want to let this go," she didn't acknowledge him. "You've had this forever. You wore it in elementary school. Why would you want to get rid of it now?"

Helga still didn't respond. She gazed down into the small box, tilting it from side to side. Arnold didn't know the contents of the box, but he had a good idea of what might be inside. He thought about the box he kept in the attic. Many of his parents items were kept there. Maybe this little box held Helga's memories of her parents. If that were true, it was sad. The fact that all of her cherished possessions could fit into such a small container. Perhaps the fire had consumed the rest or . . . there was a more grim reality;

Helga never had a very strong relationship with her parents. Even though Arnold wasn't sure what Helga's home life was like recently, he remembered the hard stories she would sometimes share when they were younger. Though short, they conveyed a more painful picture than younger Helga wanted others to believe. Often Arnold looked at Helga as a bully; stubborn and strong willed, but behind that facade he was sure a frail and confused girl was looking for something. What that something was he wasn't sure, but he would like to guess it was what most people were looking for.

"You know what, Arnold?" Helga didn't speak often, so in the odd moments like this Arnold would give her his undivided attention. She wasn't looking at him now, just the box. Arnold stood with the ribbon lightly moving against his fist. "I think I would like that ribbon back."

Arnold found himself stepping closer. For some reason Arnold felt intimidated by Helga's standoffish demeanor. For her entire time here she had become increasingly withdrawn. She never spoke much with the other boarders, and outside of obeying house rule, Helga hardly gave any sign of listening to others. It was as if she had made it her mission to never speak with anyone. Of course, this wasn't completely true. Arnold had noticed over the past months that Helga would speak with him. He could never tell when, but she would sometimes break her vow of silence to otter a sentence of explanation, like she had done that morning, or vent some small frustration with him like she was doing now.

There was no way of knowing if she was beginning to open up to him or why, but Arnold normally liked to think it was a sign that Helga was beginning to get over the shock of her parents' death, but this evening . . . this evening Helga was acting completely out of character to both her present and former self.

"Thank you Arnold," She opened her hand to which he gently placed the ribbon in. Anther cool breeze swept between the two as if pushing for one of them to move; Arnold decided it would best be him.

"I think I'll head in," he motioned to the window before taking a step in its direction. "I have another history test coming up next week and I should start studying-"

"I can't believe you even remember this thing," Helga placed the ribbon back in the box and closed the lid. "Never would have guess _you'd_ of noticed it."

Arnold stopped. He looked at her, but all his senses of observation failed him. How couldn't he have remembered? Had Helga forgotten that she wore that large pink bow in her hair since preschool? Or maybe she was forgetting the fact that she picked on him all throughout elementary school thus forcing him to look at her and her bow everyday of his young life. There was no way that pink cloth was forgettable. There were times Arnold could remember approaching the top steps of P.S. 118 and noticing something pink just coming up the stairs. Without even seeing her face, Arnold knew his tormentor would soon be standing before him; her warning flag that ribbon. . . but this was hardily the time to reminisce such horrible thoughts about Helga. In this moment, she looked anything but the bully from his youth. He hadn't looked at Helga that way since the day his grade school classmates were split between two different middle schools. Back then he would have just called Helga one of his friends; slightly rough around the edges, and perhaps oddly obsessive; but still a good friend.

"Of course I remembered, we were friends and you wore it everyday."

"Friend?" Helga halfhearted laughed. "I'm sure you had different words for me."

"Well," he didn't want her to think that. "You were a bit mean at times, but so were a lot of kids then. Stinky, Sid, Herod . . ."

"Harold."

"Oh yeah, sorry. Harold." The names bought such good and bad memories with them. Arnold was still friends with Sid, well kind of. They still played each other in the arcade and shared a palsy-walsy kind of friendship in their chemistry class. But it was exactly this that made Arnold wonder if he knew Sid at all like Gerald or Phoebe. These people who surrounded him, who he's helped or likes to think he had; did he really know any of them? He obviously didn't know Helga, but should he really be expected to know his old bully?

He wasn't being completely fair in giving her that title. She'd proved her friendship more than once, and like it or not, he understood the pain and distance she was showing now. In fact, he was beginning to understand it a little too well.

"I'm sorry for that," Helga's voice jolted Arnold from his thoughts and he was happy to see she hadn't noticed his mental wonderings. "You really didn't deserve the crap I put you through."

"Don't worry about it, I'm over it."

"You must have thought I hated you."

Arnold didn't want to respond to that comment. As much as good sense wanted to admit that he felt hated, there was always something that made him wonder if just the opposite were true. His grandfather had told him once that Helga was just picking on him to get his attention; that in some distorted way, it was her showing of great affection. Yet, 27 spitballs to the back of the head never really felt much like a loving relationship.

"It's funny," Helga continued with her head still low. "That someone could treat you so bad, and in your eyes, they hate you."

"I never said I thought you hated me."

"But you believed it," Helga suddenly looked up with such anger that Arnold almost stepped back in fear that the gaze itself would jump up and get him. "You decided that because I didn't treat you ever so nicely or praise all you're meddling efforts, that I must have hated you. There must be something wrong with you in my eyes! Something you couldn't fix; that you couldn't measure up too!"

Arnold now did find himself stepping back. Helga had gotten to her feet and seemed to be speaking about something he couldn't put together. He wasn't sure why she was saying all of this, still it wouldn't be the first time he had received such a passionate rant from her; but something told him this rant wouldn't end in hugs and kisses.

"No matter how hard you tried to please me, no matter how many times you tried to make peace; it wasn't good enough. You weren't good enough. But that was all just a rouse! One giant, 'inside joke' that you're always going to be on the outside of. Because you're loved, you're treated like garbage, but you're loved."

She was still for a moment; Arnold tried to understand what she was saying. He knew she had liked him then; she'd 'confessed' to him once. . . this apology was out of place. She wasn't talking about him, and this wasn't some misguided childhood affection.

Helga suddenly became enraged again as she threw the small box she'd been holding as hard as she could just a few feet in front of her. The lid flew off upon impact and the box's contents took off around the roof. Light objects, like pictures or folded notes, were quickly taken away by the wind. The ribbon from earlier danced along the ground before finally succumbing to the wind. Still other objects bounced or rolled away to dark corners where Arnold couldn't make them out anymore. The only thing still resting at the point of contact was a small book; perhaps a pocket journal.

Helga's breathing was heavy, and she didn't bother to hide the tears that fell from her eyes. She'd been holding that for a while; a broken heart just dying for expression. These tears weren't for him however, and he knew this.

"I just, I just wanted to hate them so much,"

Arnold quickly came to Helga's side before she could slump down to her knees. He helped support her as her sorrows spilled out on the roof. It would feel too strange to pull Helga into a full embrace, but Arnold mentally kicked himself for not having the gumption to do so.

"No matter what I remember. . . they loved me- and I never got to see it, I wouldn't let myself see it."

Arnold took in a deep breath as he let Helga vent her soul. Such a bad judge in character, he thought, his own fears beginning to caught up to him. If he didn't know the people around him, the people he claimed to love and care about . . . Watching Helga cry forced him to do the same. He didn't sob openly as she did, but sudden realization of just how little he knew was overwhelming.

"You're seeing it now Helga," Arnold found himself speaking. "Maybe, maybe sometimes our memories of things and people are worse then they really were."

A few moments passed. Helga's tears had stopped, but she hadn't moved away from him. She took several deep breaths before straightening up and stepping away from Arnold. For his part, Arnold felt inadequate. Helga had needed so much more, and all she got was this boardinghouse and plenty of dispiriting memories. Arnold almost felt bad for the thoughts he had harbored against Gerald and Phoebe and Helga . . . and his parents. Maybe memories, as important as they are, didn't always tell the truth.

Helga slowly went over to where her journal sat. She knelt down and picked it up.

Maybe, friendship was more than just knowing someone's favorite activities, sorrows, joys or family. Crushes weren't held because someone made you feel respected or special. Family wasn't bound by blood, nor broken up because of it. Maybe love wasn't hugs and kisses or feelings of happiness.

Arnold began to help Helga as she looked for the few item around the roof. She didn't seem to mind his help.

Maybe love wasn't always a tangible thing. If a bully can care for their tormented, neglectful parents for their daughter, old crushes for their objects of affection . . . orphans for the forgotten parents; if they were looking for love to do for them, then maybe they should forget what they came here for.

Forget What You Came Here For

Fin

July 26, 2011


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